


under that weighty hand

by catpoop



Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: Gen, Light Angst, OOC Sisyphus (relative to canon), One Shot, Pre-Canon, References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Young Thanatos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 08:47:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27468190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catpoop/pseuds/catpoop
Summary: King Sisyphus has little respect for guests and visitors to his kingdom; he makes no exception for Death.
Relationships: Ares & Thanatos (Hades Video Game), Thanatos & Sisyphus (Hades Video Game)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 85





	1. Chapter 1

The tolling of the bells strike fear into the hearts of all mortals, but King Sisyphus has been expecting the sound for a while. He knows that he has wronged Zeus ever since the thunderstorms that manifested over his kingdom have refused to move on, and well, to send Death – is not an unexpected consequence. What _is_ unexpected, then, is the figure that comes into being in his sitting room.

Small in stature, with a head of shoulder-length silver hair and a greyish complexion that betrays his otherworldliness, Death himself swings that symbolic scythe. Sisyphus has to laugh at the sight. He would have mistaken the boy for any other manservant if it were not for his dramatic entrance.

“And who are you, lad?”

“I have come to collect your soul, Sisyphus, by Lord Zeus’ request.” His voice still contains hints of the reedy tones of a child.

Sisyphus does not move from his seat. If the gods wish him dead, then he will toy with them for as long as possible. “Is that so? And here I thought that was the job of that accursed boatman, Charon.”

Death brandishes his scythe. “You are not yet dead. And Charon does not deal with the living.”

“Then who might you be? With that silly weapon of yours. I would have mistaken you for one of the farm boys, if it not for the fact they would have shorn your hair short in a heartbeat.”

Death scowls, and another bell tolls far off in the distance. The lad needs his own choir to maintain a threatening aura, and even then, he isn’t doing an impressive job. Sisyphus rolls his shoulder and shifts in his seat.

“I am Thanatos,” the boy announces, as he hovers a foot above the ground and manifests coils of _something_ , blood-red and fire-streaked, in his arms. Chains, Sisyphus realises a second later. Enough to bind a fully grown man and then some more. “I am your death, and your mother’s death, and the death of your kingdom.”

Sisyphus eyes the chains, but maintains his relaxed posture. “You look to have been just weaned off _your_ mother’s breast – what would you know of death?” A sigh. “I was expecting some wizened old man, is all.” 

As expected, the lad’s cheeks glow an angry, embarrassed pink. He shifts the chains from one hand to the other, and Sisyphus uses the moment’s silence to continue.

“What are you doing with those chains, then? Pray tell.”

“I am to bind your mortal body, and drag you down into the deepest pits of Tartarus. Do not struggle; it will make your torment worse.”

“And what of the scythe there?” Sisyphus points carelessly. “When in my ‘torment’ do I face your blade?”

“Ah –” A look of hesitation, before the boy replies stonily. “Lord Zeus requested the chains, and so the chains it shall be.”

“Rather demanding of him, no? Do you even know how to work them?”

“Of course.”

“Show me, then.” With this said, Sisyphus leans back in his chair as though he were entertaining some drunken party of lawmakers.

“I will,” Death says, and Sisyphus can only watch as the boy uncoils one end of the chain, using his other arm to support the bulk of it. Far more unwieldy than the scythe floating at his back, but who is Sisyphus to comment on the whims of the gods.

The chain rattles and sparks in his hands, and with every noise, Sisyphus watches and waits. Waits until the moment he’d seen coming arrives – when Thanatos lets a great loop of chain clatter to the ground in his clumsiness, and Sisyphus throws himself out of his chair to seize the fiery links of metal. They burn terribly into his palms, but he has endured worse – will endure worse, to wrap the chain around the god’s own neck and wrest the bindings fully from his arms. 

Death screeches in surprise, though it should be Sisyphus’ own arms that are screaming, and he grimaces through the pain to throw the chains around the youth’s shoulders, constricting his arms and legs with a few easy movements. It seems the chain wants to bind to itself, and it sparks relentlessly against Death’s skin, though it does not seem to burn him. Pity.

“Was that what you wanted to show me?” Sisyphus pants.

“Let me go!” The boy screams – and he really does look like a boy now, pinned to the ground and scythe forgotten to one side. “Let me go, let me go!”

“And greet Death with open arms?” Sisyphus asks. “I think not.”

“Lord Zeus will hear about this,” the boy chokes out, and Sisyphus watches curiously as the chain-links tighten around the body in their grasp. Gods forbid that happen to his own mortal body – he shudders to imagine it. 

But this is not a time for fear, and Sisyphus steps closer, then closer once more, to regard the godlet writhing on his palace floor. 

“Lord Zeus will hear about your failure, also.”

To think that anything he could say would strike fear into Death’s eyes. The boy on his floor stares up at him in terror, and Sisyphus is close enough to feel the heat of the chains on his bare shins as he watches the boy try and fail to contain the expression on his face.

“Release me,” Thanatos spits. Sisyphus ignores him.

“So what now? Are you to reside in the pits of Tartarus until someone can come along and free you?”

“Death will come yet for you, King.”

He chuckles. “You may need more experience before that day comes, boy.”

“I am far older and wiser than you!” The boy fumes, knuckles whitening where he grips at the chain around his neck.

“Apologies, but I find that hard to believe when _you_ are the one imprisoned in my palace. Like some bull-headed young thing, you are.” After a moment’s hesitation, Sisyphus lowers himself on his knees, if only because he can ensure the privacy of these chambers.

Death scowls at him.

He reaches out a hand curiously, slow as not to startle, and fingers a lock of inhuman silver hair. The kid gnashes teeth at him, and Sisyphus seizes a fistful of that hair to keep him still. It is cool on his seared palms, and so very human. But not.

“Never had a god under my control before,” he muses. “Is this the end of Death, then?”

“Y-You will release me!”

The god should have realised his efforts were futile by now, Sisyphus thinks as he tunes out the useless pleas, heart lightening in his chest and brain a whir with ideas. Any immortal being is a good bargaining chip, but to have Death itself at his feet…

The boy bucks once more, then flinches even more violently as the back of Sisyphus’ hand brushes against his ice-cool cheek.

“Stop struggling, boy.”

His piercing gold eyes are panicky. “No, I –” A pause, where Sisyphus can see the metaphorical gears turning in his godly brain, before Thanatos announces: “Chains! Take him down to Tartarus!”

At that, he leaps back, fearing the worst, only for the distant rumbling beneath their feet to come to a crescendo beneath the imprisoned Death and snatch him away into the ether. The scythe disappears as an afterthought.

When peace finally settles within the room, Sisyphus curses in annoyance, even as the triumph of having evaded Death lifts the corners of his mouth. Trust that youth to favour even Tartarus over the mortal realm. He hopes the gods will be as easily cowed next time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was going to be a lot more violent but my brain said No Catharsis Today thanks! just a good ol civilised oneshot


	2. Chapter 2

By the time Ares ventures into Tartarus, his blood is boiling underneath his skin and a scowl is carved permanently into his face. Reduced into rescuing some kind of damsel in distress, when there are plenty of good wars to be fought on the surface. If there’s one place he does not step, it’s into the Underworld. The matters of the dead do not concern him, even as they pile up on the battlefield.

But this past month has been sorely lacking in such a sight, and not one member of his family has yet bothered to investigate why. He has heard Apollo complaining about the lack of offerings demanding protection from disease, but offerings are of little import compared to losing the thrill of war itself.

What use is infighting among mortals if there is no blood shed?

He turns his nose up at the dingy puddles under his feet and the rough-hewn stone steps that lead him further and further into Tartarus. Something about the eternal imprisonment of King Sisyphus is what he’d heard, but gods if they hadn’t chosen the deepest pit possible.

The tantalising call of bloodlust from the surface is the weakest it’s ever been, and this is the only reason Ares continues his descent, grumbling all the while. He swings his sword at a nearby gathering of shades, and they dissipate without complaint. Pathetic.

He has no thread or other guide through this accursed place, but the aura of Death is not unfamiliar to him, even under the heavy stench of souls around him. Ares happens upon him eventually, though it does take longer than expected.

The orange-red of fire glows in the distance and draws him in, until he can see the chains they spark from, bound around the limbs of the youth Death.

“Are you kidding me,” he growls.

“Who goes there?” Thanatos asks him, seemingly unable to turn his head enough to see his rescuer.

“Ares.”

“Ah –” His voice cracks on a syllable, and Ares takes just enough pity on him to march around to his front. The god stares up at him with what could only be gratitude, face framed by hair matted with the dirt of Tartarus.

Ares tells him such. “You look a mess.”

“Will you free me from these chains?”

Ares sighs. “I will have to, for war to resume amongst the humans.”

“Do it, then.” When Ares does not move from his place, Thanatos’ expression grows impatient. “Treat me with respect! I am far older than you Olympians –”

“And yet you are the one chained up by a mortal.” Ares finishes his sentence for him. “The Ephyran king, was it?”

His question is met with the silence of Tartarus. Death’s complexion grows blotchy.

“Very well.”

He tests a chain-link with the tip of his sword, then, favouring a more curved blade, splits the chain in three. They do not unravel willingly, and Ares lifts metal from skin with a few more easy flicks of the wrist as Thanatos stares belligerently up at him. His grey skin is flecked with ichor by the time Ares sheaths his blade.

“Carry on with your duties, then.”

It’s not a question, but Thanatos stares up at him from the ground as though it were. The chains have already disintegrated, and yet the godling continues to lie there, clearly in no rush to return to his responsibilities.

“Do I have to personally escort you to your Master?” He snaps, and that is finally enough to spur the god into action. Thanatos picks himself off the ground slowly, a pained expression crumpling his face. Ares tosses him his scythe and he clumsily catches it with both hands, the handle thumping against his chest.

“…No.” His response is delayed, and on any other occasion, Ares would have already stormed out of Tartarus. Just this once, he waits.

“Ready to reap some souls, then? War calls.”

“Y-Yes.” Thanatos stares at his own scythe like it is unrecognisable to him. Ares holds back a snarl.

The journey up is almost as arduous as the way down, but only because Ares has the goodwill to pause every few seconds and watch Death totter along behind him like a newborn. When they finally reach the entrance to Tartarus, Thanatos clears his throat.

“Yes?”

Death has a pinched look on his face. “…Thank you, Lord Ares. I will return to my post now. You need not accompany me.” His hands are white-knuckled around his scythe.

“Good.” The journey back up to the surface will be swifter now, and to Olympus even swifter soon. “May we meet again only in battle.”

Thanatos nods, and watches him go.

(When she next phases into being within the House, Mother Nyx is surprised to see that one of her sons has cut his hair short. It catches the light like the blade of a scythe before he vanishes to the call of death.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact ares was also once chained up by some Dudes, for like 13 months. good 4 him

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](https://swummeng-geys.tumblr.com)   
>  [twitter](https://twitter.com/hashtag_yikes)


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